The Path Not Taken
by Catiegirl
Summary: This is a short story based on what it would have taken to get Shore of Dreams to not happen- an AU from my Au that gets it all back to Canon while Gilbert has typhoid! A little "What If" that tickled me greatly.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy New Year, everyone! This short story is something I never really intended to publish, a little 'What If' that I had in mind while I was writing Shore of Dreams. While I took you down the path of that AU, I kept wondering about what it would take to knock the story back onto it's canon path- if Phil's letter still never came, and Anne still arrived to hear Gilbert's delirious ramblings. There's one thing I theorise that might have changed everything- if Sonia had called Anne _back_. I love unravelling stories- even if they're mine.**

 **I find that I don't 'not write' very often anymore. I just write things that I don't do anything with. And between Christmas and New Year, this is what I wrote to wind down after what was honestly a very hard 12 months. Essentially, it's _How Shore of Dreams Might Not Have Happened._ While almost every element of this idea has been done before, I decided to see what came of it from my perspective- and I thought you might like to see the result. It's no magnum opus, and I can't claim to have invested the same thought into it that my other longer works received, but I really enjoyed doing it!**

 *****Quick note added for clarification: If you haven't read Shore of Dreams, Gilbert's comment in this chapter won't make much sense- just chalk it up to delirious rambling, and don't let it worry you at all. (EEEEVERYTHING is going to be alright...)**

 **You needed chocolate and vodka to get through parts of my last stories, all I would suggest here is a really good cup of tea- and maybe a nice slice of cake to accompany it. Yes, it starts off pretty grim, but I promise that it won't last. The only way is up, isn't it? The story is broken up into three chapters just to manage length, however, you will get them all at once.**

 **Much love to you all, and thanks for reading.**

 **Love, Cate.**

 **Heading back into typhoid country in three…. two… one….**

* * *

 **July 1887**

The warmth of the summer afternoon was cut off abruptly when the door to the Blythe residence closed behind Anne with a click. She looked around at the kitchen she had once known as well as her own and shivered. The entire house was eerily silent, and all drapes were closed, and she faltered as Gilbert's mother turned to her, her rosy face pale and lifeless.

"I'm not promising anything," she said slowly. "He hasn't been himself for weeks. And to be frank, dear, I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish."

The 'dear' made Anne flinch. It had been a habit for Mrs Blythe to call her such- back before the time she had refused her son. Since then, a frosty bow was all the woman would give her. She didn't know why the door did not shut in her face this time- she had almost expected it from Gilbert's parents. She had no right to be here. But nevertheless, she was- pale and quiet, her eyes pleading.

"Will he want to see you?"

Anne swallowed, and her voice shook. "I- I don't know. We didn't part well in Kingsport," she said faintly. "I hurt him terribly- and I need to tell him how sorry I am."

"He's dying, Anne." The blunt words hit her with the force of an axe, and Sonia's eyes shut at the look of terror on the girl's face. Without realising it, her manner softened. "We've done everything that we can. He hasn't responded to anything in days. I- I am losing my son."

Anne took a step back, her hand covering her mouth as she tried to keep her cry silent. She breathed heavily, her grey eyes darting to the staircase. "But- but he's _young_ , he's strong-"

Sonia's jaw trembled. "Even young men will grow weary," she quoted drearily. "Anne, what good will seeing him do?" The girl only looked at her, and in that moment she recognised the unyielding stubbornness that Anne Shirley was famed for. Sonia sighed in defeat. "I will ask him, Anne. If he would- if he would like to see you, I will allow it. It can't hurt him now."

As Anne followed Sonia up the dim staircase, the old nursery rhyme rang in her ears that she and the other schoolchildren would chant, playing on the wooden steps before school.

 _One step, two step, three step, four…. get to the top and close the door…._

Anne drew in a shallow breath, shakily putting one foot in front of the other. Almost could she hear Josie's nasal voice through the crowd of girls, the giant bow on her sleek curls bobbing and bouncing while she skipped.

 _Five and six and seven and eight…_

The stairs creaked underfoot as Gilbert's mother trod on them, and Anne's hands clenched. Above them, she could hear low voices, and for just a second she stopped, unable to continue.

"Wait here for me."

Sonia disappeared in through the bedroom door, leaving Anne on the landing, a nightmarish feeling holding her in place.

 _You can hurry up now, but you've come too late…_

She knew how serious it was- Mrs Blythe would not allow her there if it was not. She knew how she was regarded at the house of Blythe. Would he even know her now? Would he look like the boy she knew- would he even want her there now? Almost she turned, when she heard Sonia's low voice.

"Gilbert dear, there is someone come to see you- would you like to see Anne?"

"No," the hoarse voice spoke, and a deep shiver of horror went down Anne's spine. "No- _don't_ \- not her- you can't- don't let her in, _don't let her in!_ " Anne clutched at the stair railing, whiter than a sheet when his voice reached her. "Go! _Leave_! I was better off without you-" there was a great hacking cough, then, and she cried out in pain.

"Gilbert, she's not here yet, it's alright-"

His voice was weak, but she heard still heard him over the sound of glass falling to the ground. " _She's unfaithful_ -"

Anne turned from her place on the landing, each word a stab to her heart, hearing Gilbert's voice speaking the words she had never thought she would hear. Only then did she understand to the degree that his opinion held with her- only then did she understand that loving him made him the one who could hurt her more than anyone else ever had. Blindly she stumbled down the staircase, catching herself from falling on the handrail, not knowing or hearing his mother call for her husband to go to their son. _Run_ , her younger self told her; run until it can't catch you; run until the pain stops- only it never would.

She fled from the house that had once known her, the veranda where they had studied together, and he had tormented her by throwing apple seeds in her lap, no matter how far away she had sat. The pain twisted inside, and she swallowed back the sob as she remembered him- always, always he had found a way to get to her. Even now when he lay so ill.

Her hand was on the gate, and then he was there as well- the boy of eighteen who had given up his own opportunity for her sake, all for a girl who had refused him at every turn cruelly. She could see the eagerness on his face as he held out his hand to shake, and her knees crumbled now as she slipped to the grass, her hand clutching at her chest as if trying to make herself breathe past the cry that was forcing itself from her body. Long minutes went by as she cried, and when a white-faced Sonia Blythe made it to the veranda, the pale, thin face of her boy was foremost in her mind when she saw the girl's uncontrolled tears, inexplicably linked to her son's, as he cried against his father's chest in his delirium.

The past year was forgotten, and she gathered her skirts to hurry when she saw Anne trying to rise, tear-blinded and unsteady against the old gate. She ran down the pathway to stop her.

"Please, Anne, not like this," she pleaded. "He's sick- he doesn't know what he's saying-"

Anne sprang to her feet then, her eyes wild, her hands clenched by her sides as sobs shook her body. "You know that isn't true- he's right. I'm hurting him even now- I need to go."

"Anne, please, I think you might help-"

The girl turned on her angrily. "Like just the mention of my name helped him? If you think I will stay here and hurt him-"

Sonia grabbed her hand. "Anne, he's not in his right mind- he's fought anyone who has had to come in-"

Anne swayed on the spot, her lips pale. "Then he doesn't need me making it worse."

Sonia's control snapped then. "You think he hasn't fought us at times as well? Anne, I don't know what happened between the two of you, and quite frankly, I don't care," she said furiously. "The point is, what are you going to do about it now?"

Anne gave a choked cry of denial. "Mrs Blythe, I would give _anything_ to fix things with him- but you heard him, he wants nothing more than for me to go."

Sonia gripped her arms, her face showing her desperation. "It's not real, Anne. It's delirium, it's pain- he's been muttering and crying out for weeks- we don't know what he's saying, half the time."

Anne stepped away, her face set. "He doesn't want me here."

"Then why has he been asking for you?" Sonia shot back.

Anne stumbled, then, her grey eyes glassy. "For _me_?"

"Yes, for you," Sonia bit back angrily. "Whatever you've done, Anne, the two of you are still connected- and we don't have much time."

Anne stilled herself, watching the older woman in bewilderment. "You don't want me here, Mrs Blythe," she said faintly. "You saw how he reacted. Why would you tell me to stay now?"

The anger the older woman had felt drained away, leaving behind the exhaustion, and the hope that was fading. "Please, Anne," she said unsteadily. "He hasn't responded to anything in days- until you came. He needs a reason to wake up. I won't ignore it if it's you."

Anne's jaw clenched. "Mrs Blythe, he needs _Christine_."

Sonia recoiled in shock. "Who?"

"Christine Stuart. The girl he has been seeing-"

Sonia looked at Anne in alarm. "Anne, Miss Stuart is just a friend."

Anne choked back a denial. "He- he was going to propose to her- I was _told_ that-"

Mrs Blythe was frozen for a moment in confusion and shook her head. "He received her wedding invitation just after he became sick."

Anne's cheeks flushed with rage, and she drew herself up to her full height, her green eyes blazing. "How _dare_ she? How could she abandon him for someone else when he was ill?"

" _Anne_! She is the sister of his friend, and one that he knew to be already engaged!"

There was a moment of silence then. "But everyone thought- _everyone_ said-"

"We know." Sonia's head was high, and her brown eyes snapped. "Almira Sloane was very sure as well. It was the only thing that stopped the whole of Avonlea making comments about you and my son- so I did nothing to correct them." Anne turned from her in agony, and Sonia sighed, rubbing weary eyes. "Anne, I can only assume that you are here because you still care. If you do- I am- I am _begging_ you to try to reach him." Her voice was weary. "The past doesn't matter now. There's nothing left. There's no chance for him if the fever doesn't go."

Anne slumped against the post, her eyes dull. "Very well. I'll try- for his sake. But if he reacts the same way I have to respect his wishes- delirious or not."

Sonia's shoulders fell in relief. "That's all I ask."

* * *

With a sick feeling, Anne was led back inside, to be met with silence through the house. Sonia turned to her at the door of his room, her bloodshot eyes on her steadily. John Blythe stepped out of the shadows, trying to smile at the pale girl in his son's doorway.

"I think you just startled him," he said quietly. "He hasn't seen anyone but us in days. I'm sure he'll be right, soon."

Anne turned to look at him, a stab of hurt in her as she saw the way his big hand trembled, the hopeless look in the eyes that his son had inherited. She nodded, swallowing convulsively. It was then that he stepped aside, and Anne saw Gilbert for the first time. Her hand came to her mouth, and she desperately tried to keep the cry of shock from her lips, the nausea that spiralled at the sickly atmosphere in the room. He looked nothing like the brawny boy she had once known- nothing like the young man who had walked away from her at convocation. His face was gaunt, and a grey pallor hung over the skin that should have been brown and glowing.

Sonia watched her fearfully, expecting the girl to run. In her secret soul, perhaps she had hoped that she would- proving that she had no right to be by Gilbert's side, especially while he was so weak. Sonia watched, spellbound as Anne stiffly walked to the chair by his side and sat down.

Sonia cleared her throat and spoke. "I need to get some more medicine for him, Anne. Would- would you stay with him for a short time?"

Anne didn't move, but nodded. She had seen a slight twitch on his face at the sound of her name, and every nerve was alert to the possibility of him waking up as angry as he had been before. Then, they were alone.

Anne sat still for long minutes, her grey eyes studying every inch of Gilbert Blythe. The tousled and matted brown curls, the hand grasping his sheet, the grimace on his sleeping face. The body under the sheet that made her want to cry- his collarbone so prominent, all spare flesh melted away by typhoid fever. She had been determined to stay silent- determined to give him the chance to rest, but his brow had contracted, and he moved restlessly under the covers. She moved closer to him, her look frightened when he lifted a hand, only for it to fall to his side limply.

"Gil, it's alright," she whispered, nervously reaching out to touch the hand that was moving, and in dismay, she saw him freeze, a deep frown etched on his face. The clock was the only thing that made a sound in the quiet room, and she didn't dare to move until he relaxed again. When his hoarse voice came, she stared at him with huge eyes.

"It's like she's here," he muttered, frowning.

With shaking hands she pulled the sheet up once again, covering his restless limbs. "Who, Gil?"

A faint laugh broke from his lips. "Her. But she's not."

Anne blinked back a tear, wondering if Mrs Blythe had been wrong. "Do you mean Christine?"

The reaction this time was immediate, and she looked on in shock as he struggled to sit up, his voice feverish. " _No_ , no, not her- _please_ , not her- not another bloody musical reception-"

Anne was too terrified to laugh, or to react to his slip of the tongue, and she fell to her knees beside his bed, gently pressing on his shoulder. "She's not here. Lie down, Gil. You mustn't get upset, it's not good for you."

He seemed to stop at her voice, and after a moment his body relaxed into the mattress. "Good. She's too- too much," he mumbled.

Anne couldn't help a twisted smile from forming at his comment. "I thought that too."

There was silence then, and Anne lifted her eyes- only to encounter his. Her mouth was dry, wondering if he was lucid.

"Gilbert?"

He seemed to flinch. "Nope, that can't be her. She's with _him_."

Anne adjusted herself on the floor by his bed, a faint smile on her face. "Alright then. It appears you are stuck with me, instead."

* * *

It was evening when Marilla arrived at the Blythe homestead. She knocked on the front door, her face drawn, and unsure what kind of situation she would be walking in to.

When John Blythe opened up the door, for a moment she was speechless at the way his shoulders bowed. She tried to form words, however, John merely waved her inside tiredly. "I expect you're looking for your girl," he said quietly.

Marilla nodded, her words brief. "Yes. She was very upset- I didn't want her trying to walk home alone."

"We appreciate her coming. Sonia was able to get a little sleep this afternoon while Anne sat with him."

Marilla kept her alarm to herself and merely nodded. After a moment Sonia stepped into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron in exhaustion.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to receive you. Have you come for Anne?" Sonia asked woodenly.

The older woman nodded slowly. "I wouldn't want her getting in the way of what you needed to do-"

"She hasn't."

Sonia twisted her hands together and spoke rapidly. "Marilla, I realise how inappropriate this request is- but with Gilbert in the condition that he is, I admit that I am past caring about propriety. Would you- would you allow us to keep Anne for- for a day or two?"

Marilla paled. "What could she possibly do for him?"

Sonia's cheeks burned. "He's less restless with her there. I think her voice distracts him."

Marilla looked at John in disbelief, and she flinched as a miserable look passed between the husband and wife. She knew what they were not saying, and swallowed, trying not to think what it would be like if it was Anne so ill. "May I speak with her, then, please?" Marilla asked quietly. "I would prefer her to make that decision- and for her reputation's sake, we need to be careful."

Sonia nodded shakily. "I understand. We- we're up most of the night anyway right now. If you would prefer her home each night we can bring her home- for as long as she is prepared to come."

Marilla cleared her throat and nodded, the misery of the household apparent.

"Would- would you like me to take you to her? She refused to leave the room at all tonight."

The sickroom was completely still when Marilla was shown into the room. She stood in the doorway, looking at the boy on the bed in shock. Anne's back had been to her, and she turned now, and Marilla flinched at the hopeless look on Anne's white face. She silently rose, and the three older people moved back to the landing to talk. Anne closed the door behind her quietly. Sonia stepped back as Anne went into Marilla's arms, her own tears starting at the sight of Anne's. She watched as Anne pulled away after a minute, the effort to control her tears evident on her face.

"I can't leave him. Not until I know he's going to be alright," she whispered.

Marilla sighed, but then nodded in defeat. "Diana was expecting you tomorrow- and you have Jane's wedding in two days time."

Anne shook her head. "Please- please send my apologies to Jane," she said huskily. "And tell Diana everything. She'll understand."

Marilla cleared her throat, her voice low. "Anne, Mr Blythe will bring you home whenever you ask him to. You know how this could be seen- we need to be mindful-"

Anne closed her eyes for a moment, her forehead contracting with pain. She then gave a helpless shrug, her grey eyes swimming with tears. "He matters more, Marilla."

When John walked Marilla out to the buggy, he was stumped when she handed him a carpet bag full of clothing. She sighed, a wry smile on her face. "I had a feeling she wouldn't go. She'll need some extra clothes."

John cleared his throat noisily, wiping his eyes. "Marilla, you know we wouldn't ask for this if-"

She shook her head and stood looking at the lights of the house. "If it were the other way around I might do the same thing," she said slowly. "She- Anne hasn't been the same since they- were apart."

He cleared his throat, strong arms folded tight against the unwelcome welling of emotion in his chest. "Neither was he."

* * *

Back upstairs, Anne crept back into the room after agreeing that she would rest soon in the spare room that Sonia was making up now. She was by his side then, her eyes peering into his face wistfully, a shaking hand moving up to stroke the hot forehead. He'd been asleep again, now and then muttering things she could not understand- once she thought he had mentioned Hamlet, but then in the same breath differential calculus. For just a moment she rested her head against the chair, the exhaustion of the late hour showing on her face.

Sonia had come and gone from the room, taking note of the fact that he was moving less, distracted by Anne's voice when she needed to assist him. She hadn't fled when he had thrown up and needed cleaning, she had only done as Sonia asked, and left the room when his mother changed him. Sonia wiped her forehead as she bent over the washing, then. Knowing that Anne would call her if needed, she felt some relief in being able to escape the room she had lived in for twenty-three days. She would thank the girl- soon. If her son was going to make it, he needed rest, something that had become a precious commodity. She had checked him before returning to the kitchen to prepare a makeshift meal. As she worked, her own behaviour over the last year to the girl who was sitting by her son's bedside sharply reprimanded her, and she pursed her lips, deliberately setting her guilt aside. Something had come into the house with Anne- some sense that they were not fighting alone; a faint hope that the girl whose name had often escaped Gilbert's lips over the last few weeks might have something that would help.

It was late when Anne awoke groggily from a small sleep against the arm of the chair. The room was dim, and a small crocheted blanket lay across her that someone had placed over her in the night. Another lay across Gilbert, and as her eyes adjusted to the lamplight, she looked up and felt a shock go through her as over-bright, hazel eyes looking at her curiously, as if unsure whether or not she was a dream.

"Gil?" she whispered, and a shock went over her as his body tensed. "It's alright, your mother is close by. Do you want me to get her? "

His breath was laboured, and he gave her a tortured look. "Anne- you can't be here," he said faintly.

Anne froze, her greatest fears taking shape. "Do you want me to leave?"

At this his hand scrabbled free of the sheet, his glassy eyes frantic. "No, _please_ stay. Even if it's not real."

Anne closed her eyes, as a tear rolled down her cheek, and she reached to still his hand. "I'm here," she choked. "I should have been here before, but I didn't know- I didn't know that you were sick."

His breathing was noisy in the quiet room, and his breath hitched, in some terrible imitation of laughter. "Gardner's girl has better things to do than come visiting."

Her face twisted in pain, and she shook her head, coming to her knees beside his bed. "I'm not," she said, concealing the sob in her throat. "I'm not his girl."

At this, he seemed to relax. "Ah. That's how I know you're not really here," he mumbled dryly.

Anne took his hot hand in her own and bent in close. "Have I ever lied to you, Gil?"

He smiled faintly. "You told me you loved me last time- and that can't be true."

Anne had no idea how to respond to this, sure he had been responding to hallucinations of some kind. "I- I didn't lie, Gil."

"How long have I been here?" he asked suddenly.

Anne licked suddenly dry lips. "Your mother said it's been over three weeks," she said softly.

"Ah." His eyes closed then, and she had to bend in close to hear his muttered words. "Never mind. The- the fever should drop soon if there aren't any complications."

Anne couldn't suppress a rusty chuckle. "You didn't research your own illness, Gil?"

"When the man died I did."

Anne stroked his cheek, moving to get the small washcloth by his bedside to cool him- how could his forehead remain so warm? "What man, Gil?"

"The- the man at the hospital who- oh, I don't know," he mumbled.

Anne sponged his forehead with the damp cloth, pitifully pleased to be able to do some small service for him, and her words were soft. "Just sleep, Gil. I'll be here when you wake."

There was a short sigh then. "Promise?"

"I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Gilbert awoke again he found himself alone in the dull light of early morning, and he looked around the room he had been trapped in for so long, the weight of disappointment nearly choking him. Another hallucination, another dream. He dully thought that he should have known, and he sank back into his mattress, turning his head to the wall, when the floor creaked behind him.

"Gil! You're awake."

He turned his head slowly back to meet his father's eyes, seeing the surprised look on his face. "Dad."

"Your mother's off getting some sleep, son- something she hasn't had a lot of, lately."

"Sorry."

John Blythe shook his head, and clumsily pushed the hair back from his boy's forehead, still finding it too hot. "Don't worry."

Gilbert cleared a dry throat, and his father helped him take a sip of water before falling back against his pillows. "Thanks."

"Mr Blythe, can you tell me where Mrs Blythe keeps the tea?" a new voice spoke, and a lighter step came into the bedroom. Gilbert's eyes were enormous as Anne's face came into view. He saw her halt, and colour covered her pale face. She turned to his father, who was watching Gilbert's reaction, his face startled. "Oh- er- Mr Blythe, I'm sorry; I didn't want to disturb Mrs Blythe."

John stood up, his face carefully calm. "'Course. I'll get the tea. Anne, would you mind staying with him till I get back?" After a minute of watching the two of them stare at each other silently, John rolled his eyes and eased himself through the doorway, leaving them once more alone.

A choke left his throat, the emotions at seeing her in the flesh too much for him. "How do I know it's not another dream?" he pleaded.

She gave a wistful laugh. "I swear that I'm real, Gil. How do I know you will remember this later?"

There was a faint smile that lit his face, and he rested back on his pillow. "I guess we both see in the morning."

"It _is_ morning."

"Night, then."

She chuckled, and sat down on the chair beside him, wiping her tears away with shaking hands. "Always so argumentative," she whispered, and she looked at him for a moment in silence. The long night, the exhaustion and the pallor on the boy's face pierced her heart, and with a choked cry she buried her face in her hands, bitter tears falling in her lap. She felt a hand pluck at her skirt, Gilbert's own trying to clumsily pat her.

"Anne, stop, please, stop," he pleaded. "It's not worth all this."

At this, she shot him look of fury that made him wince, even in his state. "Really? Worry about your _life_ _?_ Tell me what it _is_ worth, then."

Feebly wondering if he should perhaps have stayed asleep, he made light of the moment. "A nice eulogy? I don't know-" this, it turned out was the worst thing he could have said, and he watched her in shock get up to storm out, tears streaming down her face. "Anne- _Anne_ ," he said loudly, trying to push himself up from the bed, and failing miserably. "For pity's sake, just for once, have mercy on a sick fellow and come _here_."

She did so, her green eyes glittering furiously. "After _everything_ everyone is suffering on your behalf- _you will not joke about your death!_ Do you _hear_ me, Gilbert Blythe?"

His hazel eyes met hers, fatigue making him slump back on his pillow. "Alright." He waited until she sat down to mutter teasingly- "You'd yell at me in my condition?"

Anne glared at him. "I'm starting to see why you and I haven't talked for two years." After a short silence, Anne closed her eyes in defeat. "I don't mean that Gil," she whispered. "I- I've missed you so much."

"I missed you," he said with a sigh, working to get the words out clearly. "But I didn't think you missed me."

Anne balled her handkerchief up in her hand, her eyes falling in defeat. "I didn't want you to see that I did."

"You succeeded." He shifted on the bed, a small groan escaping him. At that, Anne was on her feet, her eyes roving him anxiously. "Do you need anything? Your mother said that you need to be drinking more, Gil."

Through the fog that he had been wrapped in for so long, Gilbert suddenly became aware of the state he was in and cringed. He cleared his throat, and then found himself coughing- and try as he might, his mouth was too dry to swallow again. With slight desperation, he eyed the cup beside him, and Anne almost smiled. "You really don't like being so helpless, do you?" she murmured, concentrating on not spilling the water onto his pillow as she helped him to sip the drink. His hazel eyes met hers with a pained look, and she sighed, sitting the cup down. "I wouldn't either, Gil."

He heaved a sigh of relief, and after getting his breath back, he turned to look at her in the dim light. "Anne? Why did you come here?"

She sat in the chair, her hands clasped nervously. "Because I was worried about you. And because I care."

Gilbert stared at her dully. "Anne, you had two years to show me that you still cared. I- I would have welcomed you as a friend. But you didn't come."

Anne swallowed convulsively. "You didn't want us to be friends, anymore, Gil." The pain in his hazel eyes mirrored her own, and her lips trembled as his words from the orchard seemed to echo between them- _'Friendship? Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne.'_

He turned from her, his jaw clenching. " _Touché_ ," he mumbled.

Anne smiled half-heartedly. "You always were much better at French that I was." She was silent for a few minutes and then spoke haltingly. "I thought you replaced me in any case. With Christine. You seemed- happy."

"You seemed happy with _him_."

When he looked at her, she only shook her head, not trusting herself to say anymore.

He sighed, frustrated. "Anne?" he asked tiredly. "I don't want to get answers only to forget them all."

Anne gave a faint smile. "We could take notes if you like- but we shouldn't. It doesn't matter anymore. You need to rest, Gil."

He groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "No more notes. I've read and studied till I'm blue in the face. I don't want to see another book again."

Anne took the hand that lay beside him carefully. "Gil, I was so proud of you at our graduation," she whispered. "I knew that you would show them all- I wanted to tell you that you deserved it."

Gilbert only looked at her, a spark deep in his eyes. His head lifted from his pillow for only a brief moment, but his words were unexpectedly clear. "Anne, if you cared, why wouldn't you dance with me that night? That was _cruel_ -"

Anne looked at him desperately. "I know. I regret it, Gil. It was awful of me. But you're right- we shouldn't talk about this- you just need to get better."

"Too bad," he mumbled. "I'm overriding myself. I want to know."

Anne drew in a deep breath, her fingers tightening over his. "Fine. But I'm only telling you if you calm down," she tried to say lightly. "If you're so worried that you'll forget, I'll make you write it down."

A spasm crossed his face as he shifted in pain. "Can't hold a pen yet," he groaned. "Anne- just tell me why you did it if you still cared."

Anne nodded, swallowing. "Alright. You- you may not like this. Phil- Phil Gordon told me that night that you were proposing to- to Christine."

Gilbert blinked at her in confusion. "What about her fiance? What kind of person do you think I am?"

Anne gritted her teeth. "We didn't know that she was engaged. I thought it was you who would ask her, Gilbert."

He shut his eyes with a groan, gripping the sheet in one sweaty hand. "Anne, why would on earth would I ever consider doing that?"

"Because you _loved_ her?"

At this, he opened one eye, a dark frown on his face. "I only loved one woman, Anne. And you should know that. I can't- I can't _believe_ you would think that."

At this, Anne's temper got the better of her, and she glared at him, her eyes steely. "Gil, the whole of Redmond thinks the two of you are together, engagement or not. Write to Phil when you recover- ask _her_. Even Roy, for some reason, kept reminding me of the fact."

Gilbert swallowed suddenly, and turned such a shade of green that Anne jumped, quickly coming to her knees by her bed. She caught a bowl from the table, a wet cloth in one hand to touch to his forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Gil," she said, her voice tortured. "I shouldn't be here doing this to you. I'll get your father-"

"No, please, I'm sorry, Anne, _please_ don't go," he begged, his voice rising in panic, and Anne drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself for his sake. She somehow manufactured a smile.

"Gil, I won't go. I promise," she said quietly. She touched the wet cloth to his forehead again, noting the sigh he gave when she stroked his flushed cheek. "Are you still nauseous?"

Gilbert groaned. "When you hit me with _that_ kind of news-"

Anne dropped the enamel bowl beside her and placed her head against the side of the bed. "Gil, all of Avonlea believes it too. I kept getting asked about it. It's driving me mad."

At this he tried to lift his head, his voice gruff. "Well, I'm _not_. Never even thought about it. Even when I heard you were with- the- the miserable sod."

Anne choked back a laugh that wanted to become tears. "I told you, I'm not with him any longer, Gilbert."

He seemed to stop then, turning to face his ceiling dully. "He was everything you wanted, Anne, don't deny it."

Anne's face was taut as she answered him. "No. He really wasn't, Gil. I was wrong. Roy doesn't belong in my life. He doesn't know me- and I don't know him. I- it was a mistake. And so I said no when he proposed to me."

"We have something in common then." There was a silence between them, and Anne lifted her head at his voice, to see him staring sightlessly above her head. "How do I know this is real?" he asked deliberately. "I've seen things- I've seen him in here, kissing you. I heard you say that you loved me. I've seen people- Christine and- and Charlie standing over there- laughing at me. I thought my mother pulled a sheet over my head and told me that I was dead." He shivered, and Anne was struck with horror at what the illness had done to him.

She drew in a breath and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "What is real is bad enough," she said evenly, suddenly understanding how to reach him. "You look terrible, Gilbert."

He flinched, a bemused smile coming to his face. "Not pulling any punches, are you?" he said faintly.

Anne shook her head, trying to control the treacherous shake in her voice. "We always told each other the truth," she whispered. "You've probably lost half your body weight in the last few weeks. You- almost died. Your parents are terrified- _I'm_ terrified- that you still could. You almost worked yourself to death for a scholarship that you need to be well enough for in just two months time. You and I have barely spoken in two years- and it took me finding out that you might be dying to understand what you mean to me." Gilbert turned toward her, his eyes glassy. "I'm not delirious. I don't have the luxury of believing this to be a dream. If it was, Gil, then none of this would be happening. We wouldn't be in danger of losing you. I wouldn't be here to tell you that I failed you- that I hurt you- and that I don't expect you to forgive me." A tear dropped from her cheek then. "It's no dream, Gil. This is what is real. And it's as close to the worst nightmare that I have ever had."

When she finished, Gilbert's eyes were closed, and after a moment Anne's shoulders dropped and shame covered her. How could she think of talking to him about this right now? She sat in misery for some time, and when his breathing was steady again she got to her feet silently, and pulled a light blanket over him, turning to go. To her surprise, he caught her hand.

"I thought you fell asleep."

"I was just thinking," he said thickly. "And you promised you wouldn't leave."

Anne managed a slight smile. "I was only going to the chair, Gil. I told you I would stay."

" _Right_."

Anne had sat down, but looked up at the odd tone of his voice. Her eyes widened when she saw him moving. "Gilbert Blythe, what do you think you are doing?" He grunted, holding his side as he tried to sit up. Largely unsuccessful, he slumped over to one side, and Anne hovered anxiously at the edge of the bed. "Gil, use some common sense! You can't just decide to get up after three weeks of illness!"

" _Watch_ me," he said stubbornly.

Anne began to smile, catching the hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I see. Would you like to go on one of our old walks, then? Hester's garden might be nice," she teased, her voice low. "I'm ready when you are."

He scowled at her and fell back on his pillows. "Fine. Come here." Anne's auburn eyebrows rose, and he chuckled faintly. "I'm too tired for niceties, just do it for me."

She came back to his side, kneeling down so that her face was on a level with his.

"Are we friends?" he asked.

Anne's lips trembled. "If you'll have me as one again, yes."

Gilbert moved his hand slightly, touching her cheek with one finger, almost completely worn out. "I'm not with her. And you're not with _him_."

A sob broke from her mouth, and she laid her forehead against the side of the bed. "Correct."

"Well, this is horrendous timing," he said dryly. "Just- just give me- a moment," he said inexplicably before lifting his hand in a slight wave, and his eyelids lost the battle to stay open. A few minutes later, and his breathing was once again even. Anne sat watching him for a time, her eyes stricken. He was so frail; so broken- and she couldn't indulge herself again. Talking about their past would only hurt him more- and she would walk away rather than do that again.

Anne got to her feet slowly, moving around the little room tidying up. Pajamas folded on the bureau, his cup placed beside the folded washer. How strange to be so intimate with his belongings- and yet feel so very far from where she wanted to be. Through the window she could see a light breeze rustling through the trees- she could hear Mrs Blythe working on the laundry downstairs, low voices that seemed to indicate that Gilbert's father was inside after the chores.

She pressed her forehead to the window, her eyes closing. Dully, she thought of a future without him. What could she hope for now? She loved him- and if he lived it would be need to be enough. He would become the doctor he was meant to be- he would be happy- and one day he would be happy with someone else. He only had to get better.

She turned to face him as he slept then, her face drawn in the morning light. His damp curls, stuck to his forehead, the lines of exhaustion and illness etched into his dear face. They had been there for months- they had been there since they had parted ways. A shard of pain went through Anne, realising that he had never been the same since that day in the orchard- and neither had she. If he _didn't_ live- Anne shivered. The bitter solace of being there at the end would be all she would have to hold on to. If she could- if he awoke again to hear her- she would tell him that she loved him. He should know that at least.

Twenty minutes later Anne sat with one of Gilbert's books in her lap, watching the curtains move in the breeze. She straightened up at the sound of her name and turned her head to see Sonia standing in the doorway, beckoning her away. She rose from her seat and met his mother in the little hallway.

"Is there any change?" Sonia asked, her voice low.

Anne shook her head and studied the older woman's wistful look through the door to her boy. "Did you want to be with him now?"

Sonia's chin rose, and she wiped away a tear. "Soon. Anne, Do you know why I asked you to stay?"

Anne faltered and finally shook her head. "No. I- I don't," she whispered.

Sonia swallowed, looking at the girl who had broken her son's heart. "He needs a reason to keep fighting."

Anne choked back a cry. "Mrs Blythe, he has many. You, his father- medical school-"

"And yet none of that is enough, right now. I heard you talking with him just now- that is as close to coherent as he has been in weeks," she said quietly. "I have prayed and prayed that he would begin to respond to us- however it's only you that he heard. Tell me, Anne, what would you do in my place?"

Anne's shoulders slumped. "I would do whatever it took to keep him with us."

Sonia smiled sadly. "And I will. If you will just do what you can- and if he only tries- then we trust to Providence for the rest. Then perhaps we may have a chance."

Anne nodded and turned to go.

"If you wouldn't mind- I think I will go to bed for a few hours," Sonia said diffidently. "I was awake for a long time, last night. Gilbert's physical care is rather- difficult, and I would like to get some sleep before the doctor comes."

Anne flushed uncomfortably, however she only nodded. When the house was quiet Anne went into the little bedroom across the hall to get changed for the day.

* * *

The doctor came at noon, startled at first to see Anne Shirley sitting with his patient quietly. She absented herself from the room and went downstairs, and out onto the back veranda. She slumped into a seat there, staring out toward the hills. Sonia was upstairs with her son, and Anne shivered slightly. She could only imagine what the doctor was saying. At times he had almost seemed like himself early that morning- but he had slept most of the morning away, not waking to talk any further. Sonia had tried to smile- tried to tell her that it was a good sign that he slept so deeply- however, Anne was afraid it was only preparing them for a peaceful end. No more struggling, no more pain.

The tears fell down her cheeks, and she laid her head back on the wicker chair. For long minutes she sat there in misery until she heard John Blythe's whistle coming through the gate. She sat up, drying her tears hastily on her apron.

"The doctor's here?" he asked.

Anne nodded. "Yes. Mrs Blythe is with him."

She looked up in astonishment to see him lowering himself to a chair, and couldn't help her mouth dropping open a little. With the Blythe courtesy that Anne knew best from his son, he pulled out a well-worn pipe, asking Anne if she minded.

She shook her head with a faint smile. "No. I'm- it's only that I'm not to seeing you sitting down," she said with a childlike candour that made Gilbert's father chuckle.

"I don't suppose I'm used to it myself. But in these times- well, sometimes we all need to stop."

Anne nodded, her face crumpling unexpectedly. So many years ago Gilbert had shown her the grave at the foot of the lush rose garden that was the envy of Avonlea- the little cross that marked the name of their other son- Jasper. She had once asked Gilbert why his mother loved that part of the garden so- and he had taken her to the hidden place, telling her of the baby boy who had not survived his first day. He would have been less than a year younger than Gilbert.

Now, Anne found it impossible to keep from looking that way- and at times she fancied that John's glance went that way too.

"I'm sorry," she faltered. John looked up in surprise, and Anne tried to stop her lips from trembling. "I'm sorry that I hurt him so much."

The older man pulled the pipe from his mouth, his gaze fixed on the worn boot on his knee. "You- you can't change the past, Anne. You just have to do things differently when you know better. Have you told him that?"

She choked back a sob. "I did. He- he knows."

John sighed, his face gentle. "Then that's all you can do. Make sure you have no regrets."

A swift fury rose in Anne's chest, and she breathed heavily, trying to contain the maelstrom of self-hatred inside. "How can I not regret everything?" she spoke jerkily. "How can I not wish to go back, to do it all over again?"

John nodded, his voice even. "I suppose we all would if we had a choice. As a father there are things that I would change too."

Anne caught her breath in pain. "But you don't need to have any regrets. He loves you- he talked about you all the time. He credits you and Mrs Blythe with everything good that he is. You taught him, you made him who he is-"

John's composure slipped for just a moment, and he cleared his throat quietly. "I hope so. But we made mistakes too. I should have been willing to go and see him at college. I shouldn't have put the farm first."

Anne's face was startled, and she watched the older man sniff, wiping his eyes swiftly with long fingers. "We- we knew he wasn't doing well. But we thought we should give him space. He didn't want to talk to us about- whatever went on between you. Sonia wouldn't go to Kingsport on her own- and I was always too busy on the farm. We wrote back and forth- but it wasn't enough."

Anne drew in a shaking breath. "And no doubt his letters were designed to keep you from worrying."

To her surprise, John gave a low chuckle. "You know him well, Anne. He was a cheeky blighter, too. Any hint that we were worried, and his next letter would be full of jokes, the doings he went to, what a good time he was having." He let out a breath tiredly then. "I'm guessing he put on a bit of show for our sake in his letters home."

Anne's smile was rather forced at this point. "He did that for everyone, Mr Blythe. I- we all thought him happy too."

Gilbert's father sat forward, his eyes on the old orchard behind the house, and his voice was tense. "Anne, have you told him how you feel about him?"

She closed her eyes in pain, her hand coming up to wipe away the tears that fell. "We talked this morning- but he was so tired. He fell asleep before I could tell him."

John stood up then, his face turning toward the fields he had toiled over for many years. He paused, running his fingers over the worn hat he held. "It's been a rough season. For you both, I guess. If you're sure- if you have no doubt- then you need to tell him now. Don't wait."

Some minutes after he had left, Anne rose to go inside. She walked up the old staircase, remembering in some bewilderment the anguish she had flown down it just two days ago. Oh, what had happened between them was painful enough- and Gilbert's words on that first evening had been exactly what she had feared- but how could she keep trusting words that were spoken when his fever was so high? The look on his face when he saw her was enough proof that he could see past them- and their conversation that morning had shown her that he would forgive.

She came to a stop at the sound of her name at the top of the landing, and her eyes widened in fear. Was it happening again?

"Gilbert dear, the doctor needs to take your temperature-"

"Are you sure that Anne isn't here?" Gilbert's suspicious voice said. "She said she would be, you know- she must be _somewhere_ around. "

A deeper voice spoke then, laced with humour. "Steady on, son, she'll be here soon enough. The way I hear it, she's been tending to you night and day. Aren't you a lucky fellow?"

There came a long sigh, then. "Yes. Anne said she'd be back. But it's nearly night-time-"

"It's midday, dear-"

"It's day-time- and she's still not here yet. That's odd, isn't it? Was she in the kitchen, mother? Maybe she wanted a sandwich. Am I allowed to have a sandwich yet?"

Outside on the landing, Anne slumped to the top step, breaking into silent laughter. It was a laughter that hurt her- excruciating for the heartbreak of the situation as much as the absurdity.

Meanwhile, the voice rambled on happily. "We're going for a walk, later on, I think. Maybe to Redmond. Do I have a temperature?"

"A- a small one, son." There was a suspicious quiver in the doctor's voice at this point, and Anne chuckled.

Gilbert's voice trailed on, steadily getting fainter as he tired.

"Oh. It was bigger yesterday. I was very hot. I wanted to take my shirt off but Anne might not like that. And I couldn't find the buttons. Is Anne coming now?"

She drew herself up, swallowing back the tears that formed- the gratitude for small mercies- that he wanted her there with him. She walked with a steady step into the bedroom then, seeing the doctor standing up from the bed in relief.

"Miss Shirley, it seems you have been missed. Are you quite sure you haven't missed your calling as a nurse?" Doctor Spencer asked drolly.

Anne shook her head, her eyes were on the boy on the bed, and she gave him a brave smile as she pulled the chair close to him again.

"Nope. She's a teacher," Gilbert said unexpectedly, and everyone smiled.

"I am," Anne said, and without caring who else was in the room, she took the hand that moved toward her, smiling at the sigh he gave at her touch.

"I told them you would be here," he mumbled, relaxing back and closing his eyes. Anne turned questioning eyes to Gilbert's mother, then. Sonia shook her head, trying to smile.

"We don't know yet," she said softly, and Anne turned to Gilbert, her free hand moving to stroke his forehead.

"He doesn't seem so warm," she whispered, and the doctor turned in the doorway.

"He's not. But we won't know for sure yet." He sighed, not wanting to give false hope. "I've tried him on some quinine. If it works, it should bring the fever down. Buy us some time."

Sonia held her hand to her son's cheek, and with a brief touch on Anne's shoulder, she followed the doctor down the old staircase.

Anne turned to Gilbert, her eyes teary. Marilla had been to visit that morning, asking if it wouldn't be better to come home each evening, growing concerned about the shadows under her girl's eyes. Anne answered as she expected her to- to say that she would leave when Gilbert was out of danger. But her voice shook, and Marilla could read between the lines. She would not leave until she knew one way or the other.

Marilla handed Anne the small valise of clean clothing, and a jar of ointment that Rachel had concocted that she felt might be of assistance. Anne had almost smiled, then. Rachel's love was always couched in practicality and far too much advice- but it was still love. Marilla left her with a thick letter from Diana and held her close for just a brief moment, the proof of her own worry in how tightly she held Anne.

Anne drew the letter out, now, seeing that Gilbert was growing restless. She was finding that he settled better when he had something to listen to- yesterday she had read to him the first of his medical textbooks- with muttered asides about the use of the manual as an excellent sleeping aid. Now, she set out to read Diana's letter, hoping that it would distract him, with her varied comments along the way.

"Dearest Anne,

 _(you know, Gil; while we were at Redmond Di wrote to me weekly- she never missed a letter, not even on her honeymoon. If that letter had just arrived though, I would certainly not be reading that one to you. It was far too descriptive for either of our tender ears.)_

I'm so sorry to hear that Gilbert is so ill- we knew that it was serious, and I had hoped you would hear while you were at Echo Lodge- darling, I'm with you both in heart. I am glad that you could be there, and I pray that he will recover soon. You are quite safe, though, aren't you?

 _(You can see Gil, that Di never sat through you learning your first science subject at college, she doesn't know how various diseases are spread. I do- all thanks to that infernal mnemonic you insisted that I learn with you. Although since I made you learn Kubla Khan for no reason whatsoever, I suppose we are even. )_

Baby Fred is growing so quickly- he's almost four weeks old now! He has the most adorable chubby cheeks, and I am sure he is almost double the size he was when you came to see him. And I can tell! My arms grow so tired from holding him, and he is such a wee thing, really- but after a few hours I begin to think he is made of granite! Fred, of course, heaves him around like he does the young calves- and says that I can grow stronger by helping him in the fields. I made short work of that suggestion when I asked him who would do the cooking- I believe he grew rather tired of his own cooking, in the last year before our wedding.

Please don't worry that you can't come- you are where you need to be, beloved. When Gilbert is better perhaps I can bring baby Fred over to see you both- I haven't really seen him since our wedding a year ago. We were ever so proud of all of our graduates- Charlie' father insisted that the Avonlea notes include the results for the three of you; and since they got the results from the Kingsport paper, the Sloanes couldn't downplay yours or Gilbert's achievements! I was terribly proud of both of you.

I must go, Fred needs me- the big one, this time. Give our love to Gilbert, and please tell him to hold on. Our thoughts are with you both.

Love, Diana."

Anne folded up the letter with a sigh. She looked at Gilbert's restful face, almost asleep, and rubbed her brow tiredly. The letter had been far more detailed- although she had censored it for several reasons. Diana, cheerfully candid as always had told her of her issues in getting young Fred to breastfeed correctly- something Gilbert had no need to hear- and because Diana had urged Anne as John had- to have no regrets, to tell him how she felt. She lay her head back on the chair with a sigh, her eyes studying Gilbert's hands. Idly she thought that she had always loved them- broad and so unlike her own- hadn't she always felt something strange when he touched her? Her eyes hungrily roved to his face. Still so thin, so altered- and yet his gaunt face had stopped being strange to her. He was still the boy she loved- and he was here now.

She looked up then in time to see his hazel eyes open sleepily, and he gave a slight smile at the sight of her.

"Anne?"

"Yes, Gil?"

"I'm glad you're here."

She smiled, taking his hand in her own. When she looked over a short time later, his hand was still firmly in her own, and he was sound asleep.

Anne breathed in and out slowly. For now, it was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

On and off that day, Gilbert slept. His mother was in and out of the room checking his breathing when he was still, hoping that Anne didn't notice what she was doing. The bed was changed, and Anne went for a walk around the yard while Gilbert's needs were attended to, and when she returned Gilbert lay exhausted in a clean pair of pyjamas. Anne couldn't help but smile at the tired grin he gave when he saw her come in, complimenting her on her green dress. Anne only thanked him with a twinkle in her eyes, as she looked down at the yellow gown she wore. Sonia rolled her eyes.

"Wishful thinking, Anne. He likes you wearing green."

Anne's eyebrows flew up, and Sonia smiled sadly. "We heard all about that during the first three weeks of the fever. I told you that he talked about you." She straightened up from the bed, her eyes filling. "Anne- thank you. Whatever happens- I won't forget that you were with us."

Anne couldn't bring herself to meet Sonia's eyes this time. "Thank you for letting me come."

After dinner that evening the doctor visited again, his brow lowered thoughtfully as he spoke to Sonia and John. Anne left the room at Sonia's request, who had filled a hot bath for her guest in the spare room. The doctor bent over Gilbert, his stethoscope on the emaciated abdomen, poking and prodding, and asking a now fairly lucid Gilbert questions. After he was done he drew Gilbert's parents out to the landing, not realising that Gilbert could hear every word.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up- I've seen these signs before and thought we had won- but I believe he might be turning a corner now. The girl is doing him good- let her stay. Don't say anything to her yet- don't say anything to him. The fever is dropping- the delirium is receding- if it doesn't go up, we might have a chance."

Sonia's blazing eyes were on him, and he waited. "You think there is hope."

"Yes. I do."

* * *

That night, Sonia had persuaded Anne to change for bed, telling her that she would relieve her when she had finished washing the sheets and towels. Anne slipped into a nightgown and robe, a robe that covered every last inch of her- and her cheeks flushed. Nothing so scandalous as a short-sleeved nightgown should be seen, after all. Feeling self-conscious nonetheless, she wrapped the robe around her and stood in the doorway of Gilbert's room. She walked to the chair she had spent so many hours in, and sat down with a sigh, taking up the book on his nightstand- Gilbert's copy of _Treasure Island_. She was preparing to read when he spoke.

"Anne."

She smiled, holding the book in front of her. "I thought you might like a classic before bed, Gil."

Awareness of her nearness seemed to flood through his body, and Gilbert lay back at the sight of her, his mouth suddenly dry. She sat in his chair like she belonged there- and in her _nightgown_ , no less! Didn't she know better than to do that around him? His eyes fell on the sleeve of his own pyjamas and he smiled wryly. He supposed propriety was obsolete at a time like this. After all, what could he do? He couldn't even hold his head up. His breathing hitched slightly then. He'd resigned himself to the worst- he'd felt himself slipping away from his parents- and the truly awful thing was that he hadn't even cared. There was a childish fear of the deathbed- but even it had failed to scare him properly. He'd mostly just felt tired.

And then Anne had come- still, a small part of him was afraid she wasn't real- but she was there. Doing things he hadn't expected- saying things that were neither the cold rebuff he had expected nor the feverish dream-clad images he had seen of her, where she only said the things he wanted her to say. No, this was _Anne_ \- alive, unpredictable, vital- and she was pulling him back to something that confused him- life.

She hadn't begun to read- the book lay on her lap, and her eyes were distant. In truth, he welcomed the silence. He lay slowly testing out his senses. His hands were tucked under his sheet- that was most annoying- and it was night time. Accounting for the nightgown, he supposed. He'd had his bed changed, he remembered that- and then he scowled slightly. His joints felt as if he had been thrown from a horse, after that ordeal. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. The exhaustion in his body was bone-deep- he thought he knew what that meant. If the doctor was wrong- if these were his last days on earth, then surely one of his regrets was that he hadn't done something to make his ceiling more interesting. It was diverting regret- but then nothing could divert him from Anne.

Gilbert watched her now, hungrily trying to take in her presence. She was rocking in the chair, her curling red hair back in a long braid. Her face was shadowed- with a start, he understood why- that her anguish was for _him_. A sinking feeling hit the stomach that had been unsettled for months now. This- this was no game. Of course, it was serious- why else would his parents allow her to be in his bedroom at night dressed as she was? Her eyes were on the far wall, on a tapestry his mother had made, of a river fringed with willows, and Gilbert used the silence to sort through the escalating panic in his mind. Before, he'd had nothing to lose- of _course_ his parents loved him, and always would. The Cooper Prize was won, he had succeeded in that mission. Oh, he would probably have made for himself a good life- duty and learning and service. But love- _love_ was tied to the girl beside him- the one who had told him two years ago that she could never return _his_.

He stood on a precipice now. It wasn't only life and death- it was the fear of truly living again that bothered him. When he had lost Anne he'd settled for a life of achievement where he chose what he would work for- but Anne was different. She was a gift- and the only one who could give her heart was Anne herself. _She_ chose. If he lived, there was still a chance he would not have her.

It was only then that the morning's conversation flooded his mind- how had he forgotten that? She _cared_ \- somehow she had thought him engaged. And she wasn't with Gardner.

As he lay, his breathing coming fast, he turned his head to look at her, a glint of fire rising in his hazel eyes. Now- _now_ he had something to fight for.

"Anne?" he breathed then, smiling at the way she flew up from the chair to his side.

"Gilbert, I thought you had gone to sleep! Do you need anything?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I, err- would you get a fellow some water, please?"

She chuckled, and he noticed with a start that her robe was not tied, and the white cotton of her pretty nightgown was visible. He tried to keep his eyes averted, his cheeks flushing. "Not just any fellow, Gil. But I will for you." She helped him sip the water, and he lay back with a sigh of relief. She sat back on the chair then. "You've been sleeping a lot today, Gil."

He paused, watching her face carefully. "Isn't that a pretty good sign?"

She gave a slight smile. "Maybe. I'd feel better if your temperature dropped as well though."

"So would I." He shifted on the bed slightly, and with a tremendous effort, he moved his hand toward hers. "Anne? I need to tell you something."

She looked at him with the eyes that were like those of no other girl, and he smiled wistfully. "This isn't what I had pictured. Not in the middle of the night, in my room while I'm- sick. There should have been flowers- and I should at least have been able to lift up my own head." He sighed, seeing the tear that traced down her smooth cheek at his words. "But it just _is_ , Anne. I need you to know- that I love you." There was silence, and she lifted a tear-stained face to watch him. He gave a slight shrug, his eyes kind. "As you say, we tell the truth. Even if- by some chance this is it, I want you to know that. I always have."

She knelt down by his bed, her hand on his cheek, her eyes swimming with tears. "Are you really here, this time, Gil?" she pleaded. "I need to know that this isn't delirium, that it's really you talking-"

"'Course it's me," he said with a faint grin. "Ask me anything. I'm the Cooper prize winner. You wore my flowers to convocation. And a blue dress."

Anne sighed. "And I didn't dance with you."

There was a curious smile that came over his drawn face. "Because you were jealous."

"Yes," she admitted softly. "I didn't want you to be with her that night."

"Why?"

Anne looked at his pale face in the dim light, a tear falling onto his pillow. Over and over she had examined the sensations then- she'd put the necklace on in her blue room, knowing he would see it. She'd planned to see him- she knew that on that night he would ask her to dance. They would talk, and something precious would mend- and Royal Gardner had no part in it. Something that had never been whole was broken once she pulled the lilies of the valley from the box- she should have known then.

The answer rose to her lips without effort. "Because I wanted you to be with _me_."

He licked dry lips and started as she held a cup of water out for him to sip again, supporting his head carefully. The intimacy of being so helpless before her had stopped being strange, instead, it was welcome. He looked up at her now, simply content to be held by her, supported by her in this infinitely precious moment.

 _In sickness and in health._

He swallowed. He would need to sleep again soon- but not before he had asked the most important question of all.

"Anne?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?"

Her face was so close to him, and he saw the tremble in her lips. "Yes. So- so very much, Gil."

The expression of wild joy that crossed his pale face at her words made her heart tremble. " _Say_ it, Anne."

Anne's shaking hand came up to stroke his cheek, not even taking the time to consider that it was not as warm as it had been. She looked into his eyes, wanting him to read the truth in her own, and her voice came, clear and soft. "I love you, Gilbert Blythe. I have for years. I just didn't understand it till now."

Gilbert gazed up at her, breathing heavily. "How- how long?"

She smiled, choking back a sob. "I've been trying to figure it out- I haven't slept properly in days. And I think- I think that I have since you gave up the school for me." He watched her in shock, and she continued, her words falling over themselves. "Gilbert, I was so awful to you back then. And yet you were so bright and good, and forgiving, and loving- and you never reproached me for taking five years to do it. You took my hand- and everything changed for me. You know how I hurt when Matthew died- but then you were there. You were my beloved friend. And then I got to know you for myself- you were stubborn and kind, and frighteningly intelligent- you were so different to me, and somehow so much the same. You made me laugh again, and I- I told you things that I have never told anyone before." Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes in pain. "Gilbert, when you walked away from me in the orchard at Patty's Place- it broke my heart. I deserved it for breaking yours. I should have understood what it meant when the hurt never ended. Even with being so mistaken about Roy- I should- I should have known better-"

Gilbert was shaking and he found himself unable to speak. Her beautiful red head lay beside his, and her fingers clung to his hand so tightly. Cursing the weakness in his muscles, his breath faltered. How could this be? Anne Shirley was in his bedroom telling him that she loved him. She was, wasn't she? Was it another hallucination? His face clouded, and he shivered. When she moved to pull the blanket over him, he looked up at her in desperation.

"Anne, I can't stay awake- but I'm so afraid that you'll vanish as soon as I fall asleep again," he muttered, pleadingly. He moved toward her, his head falling onto the pillow, and she saw him grimace in frustration at his prone state, her heart bursting with tenderness. She knelt by his bed, so close to his face, and for the first time, one slim arm curled around his head, while the other touched his thin cheek.

"I'm here, my darling," she murmured. "Rest now. I'll be here when you wake."

His eyes were closing, but he forced them to open one more time. "Promise?"

She smiled wistfully. "I promise. You won't regret anything you said?"

His cheek twitched against the pillow, and for a moment his hazel eyes twinkled. "Promise."

* * *

Sonia came into the room just after midnight, to find Anne sitting on the floor, dozing against Gilbert's bed. She woke her gently, hustling the confused girl to the room across the hall to sleep, and prepared to take her place for the night. She placed a hand on her sleeping son's forehead and froze in shock. His forehead was cool, and there was a light blanket covering him- Anne must have placed it there. Sonia tucked him in once again, her mind moving furiously. He was asleep- not restlessly moving, not muttering. She placed a shaking hand on his abdomen, unable to feel the churning that had been there for so many weeks. She turned to the window, her hand over her mouth- was it possible- could it be over? With a shaking breath, she sat down in the chair, her eyes trained on her son. She wouldn't tell them, lest she was wrong- she would wait for the morning to see.

* * *

When morning came to Pinewood at last, Anne awoke to the sound of birds in the nearby apple trees. She could hear Gilbert's parents in the kitchen downstairs, and after throwing her robe on she quickly moved into Gilbert's room. The drapes were still closed, and she moved to his side, slipping down on her knees, searching his face anxiously. To her surprise, his eyes opened immediately, and he turned his head to meet her.

"Anne," he said breathlessly.

Her hands were shaking as she felt the coolness of his skin, saw that the clouded look that even yesterday had covered his face was gone. She looked at him in amazement, unable to speak.

"Anne? I think it's over," he whispered. "I think it's done."

She touched him gently, trying to ascertain if what he was saying was true, until his hand captured her own. She looked down at him, her lips trembling. "Gil, do you remember last night?"

His hazel eyes were suddenly anxious. "I told you- I told you that I loved you. And you said- I _thought_ you said-"

"That I love you too."

He surprised her then by scowling, then, from his pillow. "Look, Anne, I know what _I_ meant. I just need to be absolutely sure what _you_ mean. I know that you- I know that you care about me. And especially since it looks like I nearly died-"

She shook her head, and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, before pushing his brown curls back to see his eyes. "I'm not just fond of you, Gil. And no, it's not about you almost dying," she said softly. "I love you like I will never love anyone else- I am only in love with _you_."

Sonia's step was slow as she came up the steps now with a tray for Anne. She placed it in her room, however, she wasn't surprised to find it empty. She walked across to the doorway of her son's room, to be met with a sight that would be with her until her dying day. Anne's arms surrounded the now-awake boy, whose head lay against her chest, a tear dropping down his gaunt cheek. She crooned to him as he lay there, whispering endearments that Sonia could not hear, and stroking the damp curls from Gilbert's forehead. John Blythe stepped behind her softly, swallowing hard and brushing a hand across his eyes. He moved from the doorway then, and Sonia turned to follow him, her throat suspiciously tight.

"Just five minutes. We really should give them five minutes to themselves."

* * *

Only three days after that joyous morning in the Blythe house, Gilbert was sitting up in bed when the doctor came, and his mother stood by his bedside, his hand in both of hers while the doctor pronounced him to be out of danger. Gilbert didn't need him to say it. He was still frail, his muscles so tired- but he was feeling better than he had in months.

"It was a close shave, son," Doctor Spencer had said to him gravely. "I hope this is a lesson for you- looking after yourself is not the same thing as existing. You need fresh air- exercise, good friends. Studying isn't worth giving your life over it. I trust you will look after yourself better next year."

Gilbert nodded, suppressing the brief shudder that the doctor's words created. Oh, he'd known at the time- he'd even been accused of being self-destructive by some of the other students. That it had been more than just a desire to win was something Gilbert would be keeping to himself- although no doubt Anne already knew.

Sonia wiped tears from her thin cheeks and proceeded to ask the doctor what the next few weeks would look like. She was given strict instructions to ease him back into regular eating again- she mustn't allow him to try too much, too soon- and exercise was only to be attempted after there had been no symptoms for two weeks.

Gilbert thanked the doctor, and then without looking at his mother, and a slight flush on his cheeks as he asked to speak to the doctor in private. Sonia looked slightly alarmed, however, she drew some comfort from Gilbert's slight smile, and left the patient and physician alone.

"I wondered if I might have a word," he said, slightly uncomfortable. "Err- you've not said how things might be in the future."

The doctor looked up from packing his bag, in some surprise. "You'll get better. It will take time, but if you are sensible and don't overdo, you should be back to normal by the start of August."

Gilbert nodded, however, there was a thoughtful frown on his face.

"You wanted to know something else?" Gilbert only scratched his head sheepishly, and the doctor gave him a piercing look. "Medical school in September, isn't it?" Gilbert nodded, and the older man closed his satchel with a snap. "You'll learn that it's best to not beat around the bush- call a spade a spade, and so forth. What do you want to know?"

Gilbert's flush was deep. "I only wondered if there would be any er- effect on me afterwards- it was a sustained fever. Should I be able to- err-"

"Have children?" Doctor Spencer asked coolly, rather enjoying seeing the younger man squirm at him putting it so bluntly. He smiled then. "I see no reason why not. I wouldn't borrow trouble if I were you, Gilbert."

Gilbert's consternation had not noticeably faded, and his cheeks burned in his pale face. "I just- I just haven't noticed- and I thought it odd- because _she's_ \- and I mean, it always-"

Suddenly catching on, the doctor hid his smile with a slight cough. "I'm- err- quite sure all will be well, soon, son. Might I suggest that you concentrate first on re-hydrating?" he said tactfully. "Necessary for all of us, really. Get plenty of fluids. I'll be keeping an eye on you for a few weeks yet, we can revisit this discussion if we need to, I think."

An embarrassed Gilbert nodded, his arms folded tightly. "Thank you, Doc."

There was silence then, and he picked up his bag. "You know, you're a lucky fellow, Gilbert. And so little Anne Shirley is to be your young lady?"

Gilbert's chuckled, then. "I- err, yes. _Little_?" he questioned.

Doctor Spencer snorted. "She _was_ little when she first moved here- quite the scrawniest little thing you ever saw- and eyes as big as saucers, too. She does leave an impression on one. Have the two of you been together long?"

Gilbert ruffled his hair with a shame-faced laugh. "Well- it's been about seventy-two hours, actually."

The doctor grinned. "Ah. Early days then. Looks like we know why you pulled through."

"I don't doubt that." Gilbert cleared his throat and looked at the doctor intently. "So- alright. When can I kiss her?"

This did make the doctor laugh, and Sonia heard him from downstairs in the kitchen in some bemusement. "You've only just beaten typhoid, Gilbert, do you need to be in such a rush? Surely you'll have time once you are engaged."

Gilbert smiled dryly. "Oh, I will be. I've been waiting to do this for eleven, very long years. I would say it's been long enough."

Doctor Spencer moved to the door, a small smile on his face. "Well then, I would say give it- _ahem_ \- another week, and if your lady does not oppose the idea, I should consider that well and truly time."

There was a step on the stairs then, and Gilbert looked up with a deep flush on his cheeks to see Anne herself in a fresh dress, her arms full of books. Had she heard anything?

"Miss Shirley," the doctor greeted her with a smile. "It appears Mr Blythe has been waiting for you. Gilbert, do let me know how you go with- er, everything. I'll see myself out."

Anne said goodbye and turned back to Gilbert in surprise. "Did his behaviour seem a little odd to you, Gil? Doctor Spencer almost looked as if he was laughing."

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders with an innocent look. "Er- no. No idea."

* * *

Exactly one week later, Gilbert's father stood up with a hefty sigh, after helping his son downstairs for the first time to sit on the veranda outside. Sonia was taking the opportunity to clean his room, after the long weeks of illness, flinging windows wide open and stripping the room of all linen.

"It's good to be outside," Gilbert said with an echoing breath- "even if the effort to do it was ridiculous."

John grinned. "Get your breath back, Gil. I'm sure Anne will be along any time now- where was she this morning?"

Gilbert smiled. "Seeing her honorary nephew. Diana and Fred's baby is almost six weeks old now."

John chuckled. "Six weeks! Ah, soon she'll be running around after him- he'll be getting into scrapes like you used to. I tell you, parenthood is one grand adventure. I highly recommend it, if you are so inclined, son."

He walked away whistling, and Gilbert settled back into the comfortable chair with a grin. July was halfway through- and in only six weeks both he and Anne would be back at work again. For one brief moment there was a misgiving in his heart at the thought of three years apart- and then he pushed that thought away. They would wait, they would work. And in the meantime, it was time to begin living again.

Half an hour later, Anne herself came through the back door, wearing a green dress that he had once told her at a Redmond reception that he had liked especially. She brought the fresh breeze with her, and he smiled at the way she dropped into the chair beside him.

"Isn't it a glorious day, Gil? Marilla insisted that if I was going to Diana's and here that I had better take the wagon- and I think Clara was glad to escape her stall in any case. Your father insisted on putting her in the field with your horses- she hasn't had company since Matthew's horse died."

Gilbert smiled. As per propriety, Anne had gone home as soon as the fever had dropped away, and he was now being forced to share her with the rest of the world again- ensuring that he would spend every waking moment attempting to aid his recovery, to be able to keep up with her once more. On the first night without her, he had looked wistfully at the chair in his room for quite some time, wondering how just a few weeks had changed everything so dramatically for them. Missing her red head, her smile and the way she supported him.

He now looked up at the girl he loved, forcing himself to take in a steadying breath. Now, it should be _now_. He'd forced himself to not kiss her goodbye when she left him alone for the first time, although she had looked at him so wistfully. When she returned in the morning, bright eyed and carrying the scent of the woods with her she ran to his bedside, taking his hand in hers immediately. She came bringing treats from Marilla and Mrs Lynde for the family, and on the day he first came downstairs she was sitting beside him when he received his first visitors. Really, it was all going swimmingly well.

For the first few days after the fever ended, the two of them had begun to talk over the past two years. Misunderstandings that had been unwittingly helped along by others, the jealousy that had managed to twist their own perceptions of reality, and the attempt to catch the other up on what they had experienced over the years they had been apart. Mrs Blythe had come in with food and clean sheets from time to time, carrying washcloths or blankets, and she was never quite sure what state she would find the young couple. She had interrupted heated arguments at the top of their lungs and was bewildered by the fact that they would simply stop, chat amiably and continue when she left the room. John had only chuckled, saying that there were bound to be things that needed clearing up- they would manage to find a way.

On this day, Anne's grey eyes roamed the hills that stretched beyond the Blythe farm, her hand in his. He looked down to see her slender fingers wrapped around his own and was hit with a wave of euphoria that was only balanced by a sudden anxiety. They- _he_ \- had a second chance, now. How could he make sure he didn't blow it? He lifted his other hand to wipe a rather clammy forehead, uneasily wondering if Anne was as aware as he was of the need for a certain conversation. They had been together constantly, content to simply recover day by day, and no discussion had yet been broached about the future.

Something of his tension must have shown in the way he held her hand tightly, and after a minute, Anne turned to him with a puzzled look on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked him quietly. When he fumbled to speak, panic flashed into her face at the too bright hazel eyes, the glistening of sweat on his brow, and the way his hand shook, and Anne moved to kneel at his feet, her eyes enormous as cool hands touched his face anxiously.

"Gil, you're too warm out here- are you feeling quite well? Do you feel ill? Why didn't you tell someone? I'll go and get your mother-"

As she stood to go, Gilbert quickly and decisively reached out to pull her into his lap. "Wait, Anne, I feel perfectly well."

"Gilbert, I'll _crush_ you! You mustn't do this-"

He frowned at her sternly. "Anne, stop fussing. I ate porridge this morning. I'm getting fitter every day. Have some faith that my bones are up to the challenge- and besides, you're as light as a feather."

Anne's cheeks were pink. "Be that as it may, this can't be good for you. And why are you so distracted then?"

He sighed, making her laugh as she slipped down beside him again. "It's just that I needed to talk to you. About- about the future."

Anne's cheeks grew rosy again, and she stumbled over her words. "Oh- I- oh."

He grinned, his arms surrounding her easily. "See? I'm not the only one who is nervous about this." He drew in a deep breath, moving back to see her. "Anne, I realise this is a bit backwards," he admitted slowly. "You- you don't start a relationship by spending several days and nights together- even if it was closer to being a deathbed than anything romantic." Anne flushed, and almost made to move in her embarrassment, however, Gilbert held her waist gently. "You were there for me at my lowest point- I wouldn't have chosen for you to see that. But you have no idea how much I needed you then. I'm so thankful that you came. But it's not exactly what I dreamed it would be." He didn't see her face pale, and continued softly. "I would have liked to ask you if I could see you- I would go on walks with you, and we would talk about everything and nothing. I would bring you flowers, and we would just be together."

Anne's grey eyes were fixed on him, her arms shyly slipping around his neck. "I think we had several years just like that, Gil."

He touched his forehead to her cheek. "We did. And then one day I would have told you that I loved you- that I wanted you to marry me."

Anne's brow creased, and she touched his cheek with a trembling hand. "You did that too," she said huskily. "And I didn't- I wasn't- Gilbert, I'm so very sorry."

Gilbert shook his head, tipping her face up to meet her eyes. "Maybe it had to happen," he said, the shadow nevertheless visible on his face. "But I'm more concerned with what is happening now."

As the sparrows chirped in the apple trees, there was a tense silence between them, and Anne swallowed. "Well, I've never spent a night in a man's bedroom before. I've never been held this way before, either, Mr Blythe," she said in a low voice, her face heating. "I'm wondering if the fact that I'm not protesting will tell you something."

His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, and his breath caught. "I'm sorry, Anne, I'm just nervous. I only ever planned to do this once- and I certainly never planned to do it when I was in this condition."

She smiled at him, shaking her head with swimming eyes. "You're alive, Gil. That's all that matters to me."

"And I realise that while we exchanged words of love over a deathbed-"

Anne scowled then. "You're exaggerating, Gil. I can assure you that you are quite alive."

Gilbert continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. "-But I wanted you to know now that what you want is more important to me than anything. I- I can't lose you again."

Anne rested her forehead against his, her hands on his face. "You won't."

He drew in a shaking breath. "I have nothing to offer you right now- apart from the excellent bone structure that you see," he said with an attempt at levity. "I have three years of medical school to go- I can't give you the next three years together, however much I want to, and even then I can't offer you diamond sunbursts, or marble halls-"

Anne stopped him when she shook her head. "Wherever you are is a palace to me, Gil," she said softly.

He smiled. "Thank you, sweetheart. I _can_ offer you a heart that has been yours entirely for years. I never stopped loving you. And I want to build a life with you now." He drew in a long breath and held on to her waist tightly. "I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne," he said, his voice shaking. "And I'm asking it again today. Will you- will you be my wife?"

To his relief she only pulled him closer, breaking into a sweet laugh. "Gil, do you really think I could say anything but yes?"

Gilbert snorted indelicately. "Look, after all this, I admit that I'd feel lot better with a good, solid ' _yes_ '-"

"Yes, then." She beamed at him with tears in her eyes, and he snatched her close with a laugh of triumph. After only a moment he pulled away, his hands stroking up and down her slender arms. His thin face was beaming, and he watched her in adoration as she smiled at him. He stilled then, pulling her closer. "There's one other piece of business," he said, his eyes alight with anticipation, reaching to tuck a red curl behind her ear. She didn't have time to ask him what- because his broad hands cupped her face, and he pulled her close to kiss her, his hazel eyes sliding shut as he felt her soft lips tentatively open to kiss him back. His hands were shaking when he pulled away from her, staring into the beautiful eyes that were at their most green.

"Anne, what if you hadn't come?" he whispered, trembling. "I wouldn't even be here-"

Anne sat back, her eyes blazing. "Of course you would- you're stronger than anyone I know, Gil. You were going to come through this, no matter what- and who knows what would have happened?"

He gave a slight chuckle then. "I suppose it's a romantic notion that we need someone else to survive, isn't it?" He brought himself close to her, his nose touching hers. "But I don't care. I _do_ need you."

Anne smiled, closing her eyes at the sensation of being held close by the man she loved. "And I need you. Gil?"

"Mmm?" he replied dreamily, studying the pretty nose so close to his own.

"Stop studying my freckles and kiss me," she whispered, moving close to catch his laughter with her lips.


End file.
